


Warning: May cause stiffness

by icarusinflight



Series: SPN Kink Bingo 2018 Icarusinflight [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Because of the sex pollen, Canon Universe, First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2019-05-20 13:03:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14895128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icarusinflight/pseuds/icarusinflight
Summary: His head is swimming, and his skin feels on fire.Dean touches something he shouldn't have.





	Warning: May cause stiffness

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [MistressPandora](https://mistresspandora.tumblr.com/) for the much-appreciated beta, she turned my words into far better words and she is also a bundle of joy and Charlie personified so do go give her some much-deserved love.
> 
> Thank you also to the ProfoundBond Server, y'all help me and inspire me on a daily basis. You can join us at [ProfoundBond Discord](https://discord.gg/GGbw2NP) if you wanna.
> 
> This was my second attempt at a PWP. Still need to work out that, but practice makes perfect right?
> 
> Written for the [SPNKinkBingo](http://spnkinkbingo.tumblr.com/) for the prompt _Sex Pollen._

His head is swimming, and his skin feels on fire. The walk from the bunker storage room to his room has never been longer. He knows his way around the bunker with his eyes closed, something he’d mapped out over the nights, careful steps and counting. While Sam had called it paranoia, Dean had called it careful planning. But none of that helps him now as he stumbles every step, leaning heavily on the walls for support. Ten steps may as well be a hundred, could be a marathon for all the progress he feels like he’s making at the moment. 

His world spins, and the walls feel like they turn sideways. Dean stumbles, and he tries to stop himself from falling. He reaches for the door, praying to something he doesn’t believe in that he can catch himself in time. But it could be payback—or just shit Winchester luck—that it’s not enough to stop him from tumbling to the floor.

The force of his impact wipes out his brain for a moment, senses blowing out and when he comes to, it’s to the feeling of the cool bunker floor against his forehead and a hand at his temple.

Dean throws an arm out out on instinct, swinging wide and impacting with someone or something. A groan results, but he’s already shuffling away, moving as fast as his fevered body will allow until he collides with a wall, pushing himself up to sit leaning against the wall. 

“Dean,” the voice breaks through the pounding in his head, and for a moment everything feels just a little bit easier, a little bit softer. When he opens his eyes everything still hurts. The lights too bright and the world still wobbling around him. It’s easier to ignore it all and instead focus on the person in front of him, focus on the familiar tan of the trench coat, familiar shirt and suit. It’s hard to focus his eyes, harder even to drag his eyes upwards, but even through the haze he can see Cas’s blue eyes. He focuses on them, and the rest of the world swims out of focus again, but he can see Cas, and that’s enough.

It’s harder when Cas moves forward, too fast for his struggling eyes to keep up with, and Dean closes his eyes to block out the blur as Cas’s face surges closer to his own.

The touch is expected this time, Cas’s hand cool and soothing at the same time against his cheek. Cas’s hand slides down to rest at Dean’s neck, and Dean leans into it, seeking the pressure, or connection, or something. He just knows that Cas’s touch is something of a reprieve when his whole body feels like it’s burning up from the inside.

“What happened?” Cas asks, his voice closer and louder than Dean expects, forcing a flinch.

_ What happened? _ It’s a good question, one Dean’s not entirely sure he knows the answer to. 

“Touched something I shouldn’t have,” he rasps out, “something—something in the storage room.” He gives a strangled laugh, cuts it short when the noise hurts his throat. “Last time I try and help Sammy with nerd stuff.”

Castiel’s fingers start to pull away and Dean panics at the thought, his own hand shooting up to grab at Cas’s wrist. His squeezes in his desperation to keep him there. His grip is tight enough that, if Cas weren’t an Angel it would too tight, crossing the line into pain. Even knowing that Dean can’t bring himself to relax the grip at all.

Cas strokes Dean’s neck, the movement stilted by his death grip on Cas’s wrist, but still soothing. Dean keeps his hand on Cas, refusing to let go.

“Dean,” Cas says, his voice even softer this time. “I need to go look—”

_ I need to go, _ Dean hears and the thought of that is too much. It’s enough to bring back the pounding in his head and the fire in his body. He can’t hear Cas’s next words over the blood rushing in his ears. The panic feels like something  _ alive _ inside of him, twisting in his gut and clawing its way out. He’s drenched in sweat, his clothes are damp against his skin. He’s both on fire inside and getting chills at the thought of Cas leaving and he  _ can’t _ leave. Dean doesn’t know much about what’s going on, but he knows if Cas leaves he’ll never come back.

“Don’t leave me,” Dean gasps. Tears burn his eyes, and Dean hates them. Hates himself for crying, hates the way they feel cool and nice against his skin, and  _ hates everything about this, _ But most of all he hates the thought of Cas leaving. “Please don’t leave me alone.”

“I won’t leave you,’ Castiel says, and it sounds like a promise. But people always promise that and promises are always broken. “I’ll be back Dean, I just need to go look at what you ingested.”

Inhaled is more appropriate, Dean remembers suddenly. He pictures the jar of powder with the faded label. It looked like ash and Dean had opened the jar to check but it smelt nothing like smoke and fire.

Dean only realises he’s spoken out loud when Cas says, “Inhaled then. I’ll be right back, Dean.”

Dean’s fingers twist in Cas’s coat tail. He can’t remember when he grabbed it, but he can’t bring himself to let go either, even though he’s gripping it so tightly his fingers ache. It’s only his hands that are keeping Cas here. If he lets go then Cas will leave and Dean will never get him back.

Only Cas is still leaving, standing up and pulling away from Dean. Fingers unlace his own with a strength Dean can’t hope to match, peeling his hand away deliberately but with a gentleness that Dean isn't expecting.

“Here,” Cas says. The coat goes slack as it tumbles into Dean’s lap. “I always come back for this, just like I always come back for you.”

The words run around in his head, drowning out the sound of Cas’s feet retreating. He brings the coat to his face, breathing in the scent of the material and taking in the smell of something distinctly  _ Castiel _ . He’s not sure how long it is before Castiel returns. The time all blurs together as Dean buries himself in the trench coat, trying to block out the world around him, trying to ignore his own body. Everything except the trench coat and the mantra  _ I will come back for this, I will come back for you. _

“Dean.” The sound of his name drags him from his safe haven. But that's okay because they mean  _ Castiel’s returned _ and Dean forces his eyes open. He forces himself to look up at the bright blue eyes which always catch him off guard. “Let's move you to your bedroom.”

Dean allows Cas to pull him up, and then he’s manhandled into having an arm slung over Cas's shoulder. He's aware that he should be doing something, hanging on or standing on his own two legs, but he lets the thought go. Instead he focuses on keeping his hold on the trench coat still clutched in his fingers, a comfort even with the physical presence of Cas beside him. 

Castiel wraps an arm around him pulling Dean into him, taking his weight. Dean just lets himself be moved, offers no resistance to the push and pull and feeling of Cas beside him. 

Dean doesn't realise they've made it until Castiel shifts beside him, lowering Dean onto the bed. 

He's not sure when it happened, but somewhere along the way Dean grew hard, and the impact with the bed shocks a gasp from him. 

Cas settles beside him on the bed, his hand resting on Dean's shoulder. The inexplicable soothing quality that comes with Cas's touch is still present, if muted by the material between them. Cas strokes his hand against Dean’s back and it feels good, better than anything has felt since he made the mistake of inhaling whatever that powder was.

His erection feels hot and heavy between his legs, and the feeling of Cas’s hand on his back shoots straight to it The uncomfortable erection grows with every caress Cas makes. Dean’s breaths have been coming hard for a while now, but this is the first time since this whole thing started that it’s not painful.

He tries not to think about what that could mean.

“That stuff you inhaled,” Cas starts, interrupting Dean from his thoughts, “it was pollen. From a plant the men of letters had found. The plant was known for having an aphrodisiac effect. It drove the inhaler to seek out comfort from another and… “

Cas trails off again, and the silence is obvious. It feels like an awkward thing, hanging between them like a fog.

“What's it mean, Cas?” he bites out. He intends the words to be firm, demanding, but they come out breathless instead.

“The pain you’re experiencing... it’s a side effect of the pollen. It will take 24 hours for it to wear off.” The thought of another 24 hours like this feels like a death sentence, and Dean doesn’t try to smother the groan. He means it to sound like frustration, but even to his own ears it comes out sounding wrong, sounding too much like the noise his cock wants it to be. “There is one alternative. The pollen can be… negated. By the touch of another human being. An intimate touch. Resulting in orgasm.”

An orgasm. The words ring in his ears, running round in his head and it takes a moment—several moments—for his brain to catch up to what they mean.

_ An orgasm. The touch of another person. _

_ A touch like Cas’s. _

He wants.

But.

“Cas,” he groans, and his dick gives a twitch at even the thought  _ orgasm _ and  _ Cas _ in the same sentence.

He doesn’t know what he was planning to say to that, if he was planning to say anything at all.

“I can help you,” Cas says. Dean’s brain spins, keeps spinning as Castiel’s hand drifts downwards, hand slipping to his lower back. Dean’s brain might be spinning but his body seems to know what to do, reacts without conscious decision to do so. He arches, pressing his back into Cas’s hand and his aching cock into the mattress at the same time.

He wants.

He wants so much.

“Cas,” he says again, and this time it sounds even more like a moan. Like the pleasure building in his gut, driving away the pain from his body as it spreads through him.

It takes everything in him to fight from surrendering to that touch.

“Cas,” he gasps out again. “I can’t ask you to do this.”

“I offer this willingly.” 

It’s all the invitation Dean needs, breaking down what remains of his flimsy boundaries. His brain is still protesting, and Dean knows he’ll regret ignoring it, but for now he pushes his rational thoughts aside in favour of moving. 

He needs Cas’s touch, needs to feel it against his skin. He grabs that urge and runs with it, using it to fuel his movement. He isn’t coordinated, but he pushes through, rolling onto his back, and struggling out of his shirt. His jeans are harder, fingers fumbling with his button and zipper, pushing them just far enough out of the way to get access.

His fingers brush against his cock, but it’s not the touch he wants, not what he needs. Cas’s hand is resting on his hip, and Dean grabs it, wrapping his fingers in his own. “Please,” he begs.

Cas is the one to move their hands, pushing their joined hands downwards, and Dean takes that as consent. Dean wraps their joined hands around his erection, his hand covering Cas’s, making a fist around his dick. 

It’s too much and not enough all at once. That same inexplicable mixture of soothing and blistering heat. Cas’s hand is loose, and Dean squeezes. Cas seems to get the hint, tightening his hold until Dean groans deep in his throat. Dean is the one to start their joined hands moving, a mixture of stroking his own cock and thrusting into his hands. It’s too dry really, but Dean can’t bring himself to care over the feeling of hot pleasure it sends racing through his body. Cas seems content to let Dean lead, to allow him to set the pace and pressure. It takes a moment for Dean to realise that it might be because Cas  _ hasn’t done this. _

He pushes the thought away with promises to make it up to Cas later, if Cas’ll let him.

The strokes are quicker now, rapid pulls at his dick. Dean wants it, wants it so much, and he doesn’t have the mental capacity to hold back, to take it slow. His whole body feels like it’s screaming at him to come  _ right now _ and he goes with it. He increases his pressure, and twisting Cas’s hand beneath his own on the upstroke just the way he likes. His only thoughts are on the touch of Cas’s hand on his, firm and insistent and getting better with every stroke as his breathing quickens and the heat in his stomach pools, except without the pain this time.

His body still feels on fire as he gets closer, muscles tensing in that familiar way. It only takes another stroke, two before his whole body runs hot, cold, and hot again, and his whole body pulses as he comes all over their entwined fingers. He loosens his grip, relieved when Cas does the same, and strokes himself through it, long slow strokes until he feels himself move over into over-sensitivity. Only then does he pull away, Cas following suit.

Dean wipes his hand and stomach off on his discarded shirt before passing it off to Cas. He pulls up his boxers, but leaves his jeans loose on his hips, leaning back as he watches Cas wipe his hand clean with far more delicacy and effort than Dean had used.

There’s no more pain, the heat in his body is cooling, and he feels a little foggy. But apart from that his body feels content in his post-orgasm haze. Or at least until he feels Cas start to move beside him, pushing up on his arms to sit on the bed, legs swinging over the side, in an obvious move that will only lead to him leaving—and nothing is further than what Dean wants.

Dean’s hand shoots out, fingers wrapping around Cas’s wrists tight, anchoring him to the bed.

It could be the orgasm, or the traces of the pollen leaving his system, but when he says the words, “Don’t go,” Dean can’t bring himself to regret them.

The words still Cas, but they’re not enough, can’t be enough, not for what Dean’s feeling, not for what Dean’s felt for a long time. He might not be brave enough to say that, but he can say this.

“You should stay. If you want to.” Dean takes a deep breath, swallows, steels himself and adds, “I want you to.”

“You want me here?” Cas asks, twisting on the bed to look at Dean. He catches Dean’s gaze with those deep blue eyes. Dean wants to hide, but he wants to tell the truth  _ more _ , wants to tell the whole truth.

“I do,” he admits. The words tumble out easy, easier than he’d ever thought possible. “I want you here. I always want you here."

Cas still seems hesitant, and Dean wants, he wants too bad, and he decides to throw it all on the line.

“Please. Please stay.”

It must be enough, because when Dean pulls at his wrist Cas follows, lying back on the bed with Dean. 

“I want you too,” Cas admits. Dean wishes this were another time, a time when he could appreciate and celebrate the confession for what it means. Could just appreciate the words, maybe go on a date or something that normal people do, but they’ll never be normal. Dean will take this, take whatever they can have.

He can already feel the exhaustion creeping over his body, knows he’s going to crash, and crash hard. He doesn’t have the words to tell Cas what he means—may not ever have them—so he tries to show Cas in the only way he knows how: with actions.

They’re already so close on the bed that it’s easy when Dean leans forward, closing the final distance between them to seal his lips to Cas’s. His lips are warm and soft beneath his own, and they feel  _ right _ , feel good in a way that causes his dick to give a valiant, if misdirected, twitch. He keeps the kiss soft, breaking it off when he needs to breathe.

“Tomorrow,” he promises Cas. “Right now I’m going to use your shoulder as a pillow, and pass the fuck out. But tomorrow I’ll make it up to you. Tomorrow,” he says again, placing a final kiss against Cas’s lips, before dropping his head to Cas’s shoulder as promised.

_ Tomorrow. _

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed!  
> Comments and Kudos give me life  
> Find me at tumblr at [candybarrnerd](http://candybarrnerd.tumblr.com/)


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